


Lemonworld

by LolaBleu



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:36:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1813789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaBleu/pseuds/LolaBleu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I could argue with her that we should keep Emma forever, that she'd be happier with us than out in that filthy horror show of a world, but I knew how that argument would end. Emma belonged here, with Violet. This was finally something I could give her; finally a way of giving her everything she needed to be happy; finally a way of making things right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to FFN 5-26-12  
> ...
> 
> you can thank jandjsalmon and shootingstella for this fic since they inspired it with one of their Tumblr convo's wishing for a fic that killed a cute little four year old (Ladies, you're right - it sounds awful out of context). I couldn't get the idea out of my head, so hopefully I'm doing you justice.
> 
> Important stuff: The Prologue is written from Violet's POV, but the rest is from Tate's.  
> ...
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr @ BleuWrites  
> ...

**Prologue**

The house wasn't sentient. It didn't think. But it did feel things. It did have needs. Like a carnivorous plant. I could feel it around me, restless, twitching, pushing me out of the wood and plaster and glass that had been my safe haven since that Christmas, and back into it instead of being a part of it. I opened my eyes at the end of the hallway by my bedroom, feeling the air around me heavy and expectant.

I heard voices moving through the hallways and I strained my ears trying to make them out, catching words here and there before the same realtor who sold us the house rounded the corner flanked by a couple ooing and awing their way through the classic L.A. Victorian.

I scrutinized them as they approached. The wife, some fake Barbie bitch, was more plastic parts than actual flesh. She might have been pretty at one point; before the cheek and chin implants, before the nose job, the tit job, the lippo, the tummy tuck, the bleach bottle blonde and contacts making her eyes technicolor blue.

The husband reeked of womanizing almost as badly as the noxious cloud of cologne that followed him around, burning my nose. His phone chimed in his pocket as they made their way down the hall and he ducked into my old room to bark orders at some flunky, giving me a better understanding of his wife's many, many enhancements.

Apparently if you want to land a Middle-grade, middle-aged Hollywood producer you have pull on your big girl britches and get nipped and tucked and trade in those ballet flats for stilettos. Sooner or later she'd get traded in for a newer, faster, sleeker model because in her late twenties she was probably getting a little long in the tooth for him.

So when the sullen looking little mousy brown haired girl rounded the corner clutching the hand of a nanny to join them I had no doubt what role she played. She was a meal ticket, a safe guard, a security blanket to make sure that when daddy did dump mommy, as he inevitably would, she'd get a nice fat check every month, at least until the little girl was eighteen.

It was amazing how the house could attract shitty parents; The Mongomery's; The Langdon's; The Harvey's; The Harmon's. I had accused my parents of benign neglect, but these two took it to a new level.

I wondered why they had even brought her along because it wasn't that they ignored her, it was that she didn't exist to them. She walked down the hallway, craning her neck to look in each room, her mother oblivious as she excitedly discussed decorating options with Marci, and her father only lifting his eyes away from the phone he was furiously tapping on to give the nanny a look full of innuendo, making a blush stain her cheeks.

As soon as she was clear of the other adults her eyes locked on me, and I froze in place at the improbability of it because she shouldn't be able to see me.

"Hi." Said a small, girlish voice in my head and if I hadn't heard Constance's CraigsList psychic do the same thing a lifetime ago I would have dropped dead of of shock right there.

"Hi."

"Who are you?"

"Violet." I said more calmly than I felt.

"Do you live here?"

"Yes. Does that scare you?"

"No." Her little voice held a note of defiance. "I'm not scared of anything."

I smirked. "I used to say that too."

"My grandma Lily comes to see me sometimes; she's dead too." She smiled at me as if talking to dead relatives was the most natural thing in the world.

"Who are you smiling at Emma?" The nanny asked suspiciously, making me wonder if the house just generally gave her the creeps or if its other inhabitants were pulling out all the stops before the new family had even signed the papers.

I shook my head vigorously. "Don't tell her I'm here; she can't see me."

"I know." She said simply, in that know-it-all-voice that is so annoying in little kids. She lifted her face to the nanny. "You can't see her." She said audibly this time.

She pulled her hand free and walked into my old room, stopping to look out the windows. I followed, watching, taking in the her small frame and pale skin; the freckles dotted sparsely high on her cheeks and the soft sea green eyes that sat above them.

"Who's that woman downstairs?"

"Was she in a black dress?" She nodded. "Moira; she's the maid."

"Oh. Do lots of ghosts live here?" She asked curiously.

"Yes. How old are you Emma?"

"Four; I can spell my name though." She added hastily, as if to impress me with how grown up she was. "The other kids at preschool can't do that." She said proudly.

"How do you spell it?"

Her face screwed up in concentration. "E-M-M-A."

"You're pretty smart aren't you?" Her eyes were brilliant with the complement and her cheeks flushed pink.

"Emma? Come on, we need to go downstairs now." The nanny motioned her towards the door, and she looked from her back to me, scowling.

"I have to go now. Can I talk to you again sometime?"

"Sure." I said uncertainly, fighting against the knot of dread in my stomach and resisting the urge to follow her out, just to make sure none of the other spirits hurt her, to protect her.

* * *

 

It had been going on for weeks now. Every afternoon when Emma was supposed to be taking a nap she'd whisper for Violet, and then she'd appear, right by the bed. Just like that. I couldn't count how many times I'd cried out for her over the years; whispers, wails, whines. She ignored them all. But not for the little girl. Not for Emma. For Emma she'd appear out of thin air before her name even finished passing her lips.

They'd sit and 'talk' until the nanny recalled her to the world of the living. Not today though. Today, her daddy got busted fucking the nanny when mommy came home early from pilates or the spa or shopping or whatever the fuck she did other than parenting.

Currently there was shrill screaming coming from the upper floors, the nanny having collected her things hastily and hurtled out the door. The woman didn't know how lucky she was; if Mrs. Cooper was anything like Constance she'd be a permanent fixture of the house. I had a suspicion that Moira was the one who had tipped off The Little Missus; she could get so territorial about the men in the house.

Whatever her reason for doing it, I needed her help now and went to beg it while she was scrubbing the counters with a sinister smile playing on her lips. "I want you to tell Mrs. Cooper to hire Violet as the new nanny."

"Why would I do that?" She asked shrewdly.

"Because you don't want another hot piece of nanny ass coming into the house and usurping your position as head Jezebel?" I offered. She stopped scrubbing at the counter, glaring at me with her dead eye, and I dropped the bullshit sarcasm. "It makes her happy; I want her to be happy. Besides Emma knows about us, and if Vi's the one taking care of her we can at least have run of the house during the day."

"Fine."

"Thanks." I slid down off the counter and I decided to go visit Beau. All the screaming would probably have him cowering in the corner in fear. It took me awhile to coax him out, but eventually the red ball was rolling back and forth between us; neither it nor Beau taking up much of my attention.

It hurt that she came back for the girl and not me. She had been gone so long, but I always knew she'd come back, even after her parents had given up hope. I knew when she came back she might ignore me, have gotten over us; that she might move on to someone else. It still hurt because while it was easy for me to say all those things, it wasn't easy to live with them, to ignore them.

At least in the months after that Christmas, even though they were the worst of my life, even though Violet was terrifying in her brokenness and her self-destruction, it was because she still loved me. It could have been worse, I guess. If I had to watch her with another guy I was sure the pain of it would have killed me. But even though it was a little girl, a little girl who couldn't touch what Violet and I had, it still hurt.

In the weeks she'd been back she hadn't sought me out, not once. The little girl, Emma, could see us even when others couldn't. I knew she saw me even if she never talked to me. If she told Violet about it, and really she had no reason not to, she didn't tell anyone. That hurt too. More than anything I wanted her find me; to scream at me; to rage and storm at my for spying on her. It would have been better than her callous indifference; it would have given me hope because if I could still hurt her, she still loved me.

Maybe if Moira let slip that I had tried to arrange things, whether they worked out or not, it would make a difference. Maybe she'd see that I still wanted to be hers, that I wanted to be the one that made her happy, that I took care of her; proof that I'd changed and not just mere words. Maybe if she got the job she'd find me and offer an awkward 'thank you'. It would be a start, something to build on, and one day maybe I'd be enough for her; be all she would ever need.

I rolled the red ball back one last time, and pushed myself off the dusty floor. Even if I swore I wouldn't do it, I did. Every time I visited Beau in the attic it ended the same way. I wended my way through the maze of boxes to the far corner, shifting some around to reach ones on the bottom of the stack. Her boxes.

I fingered through the clothes and books, the ephemera of life; the ugly yellow cardigan she was wearing the first time I saw her; journals and notebooks full of her thoughts. They only chronicled the part of her life I wasn't a part of, and it felt like fate's cruel joke because I would have chopped off my right arm to read words that her warm hand had scribbled across the page about me no matter how good or bad they were.

My chest tightened convulsively when I ran across a picture of her and I laying in the yard; her face resting against my chest, mine buried in her hair. We were smiling, happy; two teenagers in love. I remembered what the picture didn't show; her hand holding up her phone to take the picture, mine slipped up under her shirt and curved around her side.

When I could breath again I put everything back where it belonged and made my way back to the basement, only stopping for a second to listen to Moira consoling the current Lady of the House.

I was standing in the corner of the living room the next morning when Violet met Mrs. Cooper for the first time. She came in the guise of a neighborhood girl taking a year off between high school and college. They discussed what would be expected of her: that she keep Emma entertained and out of trouble the five days a week she wasn't at preschool from nine in the morning until she fell asleep; on nights when they were out or they were having a party she had to stay until they got home or went to bed.

It was all pointless really. The only thing she cared about was that Violet not be her husbands type and after running a disparaging and judgemental eye over her decided she'd be perfect. I was amused by Violet though; even though she'd only have one day a year to spend it she haggled for a bonus on the nights when she had to stay late, arguing that she'd be giving up her social life to do so. Her only caveat was that she be paid in cash, and considering that she wouldn't fuck Mr. Cooper with his dick, it was no problem.

No one was really concerned with getting The Cooper's out of the house after that. During the day, as long as the the only living person in the house was Emma, we could carry on as if the place was empty. There were other benefits, like paying the electric bill so we could have air conditioning over the summer, always having a well stocked fridge, and their Hollywood coke and champagne socials provided ample opportunities for sport sex for some of the ghosts.

* * *

 

My days fell into an easy routine. Violet would come in through the front door, and I'd be waiting. I'd follow her upstairs, going up to visit Beau while she got Emma changed and ready for the day. I'd watch them play; watch Violet sit through endless tea parties and coloring, dress up and reading Dr. Suess. All things she probably wouldn't have had the patience for if she was alive, but reveled in because she was dead and lonely.

I was grateful for Emma, at first. She made Violet laugh and smile, kept her in the house instead of a part of it. I was jealous for the same reasons, but mostly grateful. Violet was happy for the first time in a long time though, and whatever jealousy I felt I squashed because I could endure it if it brought her happiness. It wasn't just happiness though; I could see the fondness growing there in Violet's eyes for Emma and the contempt for her parents every time they slighted and ignored her.

And they did ignore her. It was a throwback to the times of Nora around the house; children were to be seen and not heard when they're seen at all, and the only time they seemed to see her was when she had to sit quietly through dinner on the nights they weren't partying. Mrs. Cooper barely deigning to drive her to preschool twice a week on the Violet's days off.

But as time wore on I could see Violet slipping further from me. She doted on Emma, nothing made her happier than making Emma happy, and to a little girl who only had two uncaring parents and previous nannies who had only seen her as a paycheck it was the best thing in the world. Even through the gratefulness and jealousy was envy; Violet mothered her in the way I'd wished Constance or Nora or anyone had done to me at that age.

The quiet moments were the ones that stung the most. The way Emma would wrap her arms around Violet's middle and rest her face against her hip as she talked to Moira or her mother; Violet's hand unconsciously dropping down to smooth the girls hair or rub her shoulder. Even if no one else could see it I could, because it was like watching myself. Emma was stealing Violet's heart, just as Violet had stolen mine.

As if I'd needed any confirmation of it Hayden made the mistake of referring to Emma as a 'little freak' within Violet's earshot one day. It earned her a swift and unceremonious trip down the stairs, head first. Emma was making her forget, blotting out the past and me and us in Violet's memory, or at least making me unnecessary. I withdrew to the crawlspace, hiding next to what remained of Violet's body, bones now, to think.

* * *

 

The first gift I gave Violet was one she didn't recognize as a gift. It was sleep. She was tired at night now, preferring to actually sleep than to fade out until morning. Even if taking care of Emma wasn't hard work, it was tiring chasing around a four year old twelve hours a day. So when she fell asleep on a futon in the smallest bedroom I made sure nothing disturbed her.

I watched her hungrily, my eyes tracing half forgotten curves while she slept because it was the closest I'd been to her in years. It was late and the house was quiet when her breathing hitched and she shuddered around a few words that might have been my name, but were too garbled in sleep to be sure of. When a tear slipped out under her lashes I gingerly put a hand on her and she stilled, comforted.

I felt tears cascade down my face because even if she didn't know it, she was happy I was there, and that made the hope inside my chest flare; maybe she still did need me, she just needed to be reminded, and that was exactly what I was going to do. I kept my hand there until morning, withdrawing when the house started to come alive around us with a gentle kiss to her shoulder and a murmured I love you in her ear.

The next gift was more obvious. I had been scouring the house since my sojourn to the crawlspace for gifts, not really for Violet, but for Emma since she was clearly the way to Vi's heart now. The games were ancient, but intact, so one day when they were in the backyard I left Candyland and Chutes & Ladders on the play table in her room. Emma squealed with delight when she saw them, and after her bath when she was supposed to be going to sleep Violet let her stay up late for one last round.

The third gift wasn't something I'd planned on, but it was the most overt; the one that would tell her exactly who was watching in an undeniable way. The only furniture in Emma's room was kid sized, and on the nights Violet had to stay with her it was uncomfortable for her. So a few days before the Memorial Day blowout The Cooper's planned I was sanding the chipped and warped paint off my favourite chair and applying a fresh coat. She didn't react when she was it, but the fact that she didn't throw it out the window or light it on fire or something I took as a good sign.

The last gift I gave her was something that I had to wait for, but the most important. So far Emma hadn't been down to the basement. Violet wasn't letting her anywhere near the more unstable ghosts of the house, but she was a bold and curious little girl, and even though Violet told her there were monsters down there I knew one day she'd be tempted.

I didn't have long to wait. It came at the end of a morning when Violet had kept her inside due to the unseasonably hot weather. They decided to play hide and seek in the house. Naturally Emma tried to hide in the basement as soon as she was out of Violet's sight.

As soon as Thaddeus crawled out from under a pile of junk she shrieked and I scooped her up into my arms and away from danger. "Go away!" Emma was hiding her face against me and trembling, but she was safe in my arms.

The basement door danged open. "Emma!" I could hear how frantic Violet was and stepped out into the main room as she clambered down the steps.

"She's fine." I said quietly as she rushed up, completely ignoring me and totally focused on the girl in my arms. She was close enough for me to smell her, to feel her breath as her hands brushed against me, fluttering around checking Emma for injuries.

"Did he hurt you?" She shook her head, but still seemed too scared for speech. Violet lifted her out of my arms and held her tightly. "I told you not to come in here, Emma." She might have been scolding, but the relief in her voice was unmistakable.

"I don't want to play hide and seek anymore." Emma's voice waved, muffled against Violet's neck.

"Okay."

"Can we go outside?" Outside in the sun; far removed from the dank basement and it's monsters.

"Sure." Violet finally lifted her eyes to mine. "Thank you." She said stiffly and turned to leave, but Emma lifted her face away from Violet and looked at me.

"You can come play too, Tate." She pulled back looking at Violet. "He can right?"

"Yes." Her voice was tight, but it didn't register with Emma, and I ignored it, obediently following them upstairs and outside.

As soon as Violet set her down in the middle of the yard I crouched down to her level, asking her if she wanted to see the nest of baby birds hidden in one of the trees. I knew she loved birds, had spent weeks biting my tongue in the shadows every time she asked Violet what kinds of birds made their homes in the backyard and she couldn't tell her.

She smiled at me sweetly, nodding her head in excitement, and I lifted her up onto my shoulders. Violet followed along, silent. "Do you know what kind is it?"

"A flycatcher." She made a small chirping noise and the mother bird cocked her head curiously as Violet laughed behind us.

We toured around the yard looking at the finches and bluebirds, thrushes and orioles, before I finally set her down in the gazebo, out of the harsh sun, for the lunch Moira had brought out. Emma watched me with open fascination as she ate and I tried not to watch Violet the same way. She was somber and uncomfortable, and other than her laugh earlier she didn't speak at all, audibly anyway, other than to remind Emma to thank me for saving her before they went back in the house.

It was a start anyway.

* * *

 

I expected Violet to find me once she got Emma to sleep. Expected her to be angry about today. Expected her to make me swear to stay away from Emma and her. She didn't. Once she got her to sleep tonight she made her fake exit from the house and disappeared. I couldn't find her at first, and the fear that she might have gone away again made my heart race and shoot up into my throat.

I found her, later, in Emma's room. She looked anxious as she sat in the rocking chair that had formerly been my home. Tensed and waiting, for what I wasn't sure, but her eyes never wavered from Emma as she slept; thin arms wrapped around a stuffed animal, lips barely parted.

I wondered if she was worried I'd try to hurt her, if that was the reason for tonight's vigil, but pushed the thought out, unwilling to believe Violet would think that. It was late and the house was still, Emma's parents having finally poured themselves into bed, when she started tossing and turning. I wasn't sure Violet was breathing she was wound so tightly, and when Emma let loose a volley of frightened noises she moved to the bed, gently placing her hands on her shoulders and shaking her awake. "It's okay, Em. It's just a dream."

Emma looked up at her for a moment with wide frightened eyes before practically leaping into Violet's lap, shaking in fright. "Don't let him get me."

Violet picked her up and moved both of them back to the chair, holding her tightly, and trying to soothe her. "I won't let him hurt you."

"Don't go." Her voice was still terrified, but she wasn't shaking anymore, finding safety in nestling against Violet.

"I won't." She rocked them back and forth until Emma fell asleep again.

"She was talking about Thaddeus, not you." I walked out of the shadows, grabbing up a soft fleece blanket from the foot of the bed and spreading it over them before sitting down in front of her.

I dropped my gaze from her. "How did you know I was here?"

"You're always there. She always asks me why you look so sad."

"Because I am."

"Me too." She rested her face against the top of Emma's head and closed her eyes for a moment. "She makes me forget though. It's easier living in her world than mine because mine means you, and it hurts too much. But you know that don't you? That's why you've been so kind to her isn't it? You don't want me to forget."

I could lie to her, tell her that she was wrong, but what was the point? She was right, and we both knew it. "I just want you back. I want you to remember me, us, the way it was, the way it could be."

"That's the problem. Every memory of you touching me makes me wonder if you touched my mother the same way."

Her words were like a punch to the gut, and my mouth was working before my mind had time to catch up. "I didn't. It wasn't like... I raped her, Vi, it wasn't like it was with us." She glared at me, murderous. "I was thinking about you-"

Before I could say anything else, she did. "Go away."

* * *

 

The ball rolled unwavering between us and like always I was trying to find a way to fix things with Violet. I had spent the last two days berating myself for what I'd said to her. I had hoped that the next day while Emma was away at preschool I'd be able to talk to her, apologize, something, anything to make up for the stupid, hurtful words that sprung from my mouth. She wasn't there, disappearing into the house before I had a chance. I knew Violet and Emma were in her room right now, but I couldn't just burst in there; Violet would probably beat me to death if I did.

All my plans, all for nothing. What was the point of making friends with the little girl, of using her to show Violet how I'd changed, if I was going to blow it every time I opened my stupid, unthinking mouth?

"She wants you to come to her tea party." Violet's voice was restrained and tired, and when I turned around to look at her she was hunched in on herself, hands around her elbows. She could barely look at me.

I rolled the ball back to Beau one last time and stood up slowly, walking towards her carefully like she was a frightened animal. "Okay." She turned to go down the attic stairs. "Violet?"

She stopped but didn't turn around. "I don't want to talk about it." Her words were strung as tightly as the muscles across her back. Suddenly she whipped around, advancing on me like she was going to hit me. I'd let her because I deserved so much more than that.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing with Emma. Getting her to love you isn't going to make me love you again." She reached out, knotting a hand into my hair and pulling me down to her so she could whisper in my ear. "If you hurt her, no matter how disgusting I find it, I promise you I will make you watch your dad fuck me in every way you've ever fantasized about fucking me."

Her eyes were hard and furious slits and I had no doubt it was a promise she'd follow through with. I nodded as much as I could, wincing at her nails digging into my scalp before she released me and went downstairs. I tried to rearrange my features into something approximating excitement for the tea party I'd have to sit through, and forced a smile when Emma greeted me with excitement, imperiously telling me what chair to sit in.

She poured out the invisible tea and talked about all the things she'd done at preschool the day before. I barely noticed, too focused on how Violet angled herself away from me; the waves of pain she was trying to hide on her face. While Emma was distracted, busy with pots and pans in her play kitchen, I reached out for Violet. As soon as my fingers brushed against her hand she was up out of her chair, and out the room. The door slamming behind her with a sickening finality.

Emma turned around and looked at me, her face falling into a mask of tragedy as she sat down, hard, in her chair. "I just want to cheer her up." She thought at me, her hair hiding her face as she hung her head.

"Hey." I reached out, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting it up to look at me. "She's not mad at you. I said something mean to her; she's mad at me, not you." I tried to reassure her.

"Did you say 'sorry'?". I shook my head, struggling for words to explain to a four year old what happened, and not finding any. "You should tell her 'sorry'." She said reproachfully. I smiled. It would be nice to be her age again, to be able to fix things so easily.

"I will." I promised her. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest and watching me. "What? Now?" She nodded. "No, Violet wouldn't like you to be left alone. When she comes back I will, okay?" She didn't look too happy with my offer, but shrugged her little shoulders. "Do you want to play a game or something until she comes back?"

"Can we go outside and pick flowers?" She asked hopefully.

"Sure." I let her drag me downstairs, her hand small in my own, and out into the yard. As soon as we were outside she released me and ran off to a bed of daisies, picking them in bunches while I trailed along behind her, filling my hands as well. She sat down busying herself with making a daisy chain.

"Why do you watch Violet all the time?" She looked at me curiously.

"I guess because I miss her." I said slowly, unsure if answering her question was the right thing to do.

"But you're always there."

"She can't see me though, and even when she can she won't talk to me. It's not like it used to be." I added before I could stop myself, and immediately regretted it.

"What do you mean?"

I hung my head. "Violet used to be... my friend. I did something bad... really bad. She doesn't like me anymore."

She handed me a flower. "I like you."

"Thanks." I said awkwardly and tried to distract her. "So how long have you been able to talk to ghosts?"

"I don't know; forever. Violet says it's because I'm special." She smiled up at me.

"Do you remember the first ghost you talk to?"

She shook her head. "But I used to talk to my grandma Lily a lot before we moved here." The house was probably keeping her out like it kept out my fanclub.

Violet came out the backdoor at dusk and Emma ran to her, jumping into her arms, before she gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek and placed the daisy chain she'd made on top of Violet's head like a crown. When I reached them they were speaking silently, expressions sliding across their faces in synchronization before Vi set her on the ground and turned to me. "Thanks for watching her." She said simply.

Emma watched me narrowly from where she was cuddled up against Violet's hip as I handed her the flowers I'd picked, praying that she wouldn't throw them back in my face. "It was no problem. It was kind of nice, actually." She looked at me like I was full of shit. I let it go. "I'm sorry... about the other night."

Her expression was guarded before she turned and sent Emma inside. "I wish I could say something else; something that would fix everything." I continued.

"I know."

"I miss you, Vi." My voice was broken and pathetic even to my own ears. "I just..." I looked around hoping something would inspire me. "I fucking love you and I hate that I can't have you."

Her expression hardened. "Whose fault is that, Tate? Because it's not mine."

She turned to go in the house and I grabbed her wrist. "I know. I know it's not. It's my fault, everything is. I just-"

"What? Want another chance? It's not going to happen. There isn't anything you can say to fix things, to make me feel better or forgive you." She tugged her hand free and stood glaring at me. That's when it started.

The far off rumble that sounded like a freight train growing closer and closer until it sounded like it was barreling through the house. The earth shivered under our feet before going into a full-tilt shake and jolt, and my body reacted before my mind could even form the word 'earthquake'. I grabbed Violet, dragging her inside, scooping up Emma as she ran to us, and pulling them both under the kitchen table; one arm slung around Violet where she crouched over Emma, the other holding onto the table as it bounced above us.

It seemed to go on forever, but it probably lasted less than a minute. Still it was enough to send the kitchen cupboards flying open, disgorging their contents in a cacophony of shattered glass and china that skittered across the floor around us. The shaking faded just as it had come, one last little shudder making the house groan and creak.

I crawled out first, extending a hand to Violet which she took, leading Emma out with the other hand. "Are you okay?" She nodded, turning to Emma and lifting her on top of the table and asking her the same thing. Before long we were joined by what seemed like every ghost in the house.

She lifted Emma into my arms once she was satisfied she was unharmed and reached for the phone. "Forget it." I told as Emma goggled at all the ghosts milling around, many she probably hadn't seen before. "They're going to be useless for hours." She ignored me, dialing a number and then hanging up in frustration when she got nothing but a busy signal. "Do you know where they are?"

"Comic-Con." She said, meeting the confusion in my eyes with a roll of hers. "San Diego. Trying to pimp some horrible movie." Moira and Ben came in dragging trash cans and ordering everyone out. Vivien handed off the baby to Violet so she could help too, and we made our way into the living room with everyone else to watch the news.

I didn't think I'd been more happy for a natural disaster, ever. If Fate was an entity I'd kiss its feet for creating something so distracting. Our fight was forgotten amid the sounds of nervous reporters and excited scientists filling the air with reports of damage, where the epicenter was, and the magnitude. If Violet was scared she didn't show it, focusing instead on keeping Emma entertained and the baby in her arms quiet.

Whatever petty envy or jealousy I might have had for Emma drained out of me as I watched because I realized that the house, for as fucked up as it is, had a way of giving us what we needed. Maybe not right away, but in the end it would. It gave me Violet, kept me perfect for her for almost twenty years. She was my gift, and I lost her because of the choices I made. Emma was Violet's gift; she filled a hole in her heart in a way that I never could, at least not now.

Emma was always meant to be Violet's just like Violet was meant to be mine, I decided; the realization coming swift and absolute. And if you looked past the darker hair and different colored eyes she was Violet; bold and curious and brave; not afraid to speak her mind, but caring and kind even at four years old. As I watched I wondered if Emma hadn't come along if Violet would have felt the need to be a mother. Probably not, I decided. There had been kids in the house before and she never showed herself to them.

But it wasn't one-sided. Emma didn't ask for her parents the entire time we sat there. Where most children would be screaming for their mother every time an aftershock rocked the house, she'd cling to Violet's side until it stopped, and in no time Violet would have her laughing again. When they called, finally, hours later she didn't care at all; just sat on my lap eating the sandwich I'd hastily made her in the destroyed kitchen when she said she was hungry. The same ambivalence couldn't be said of Violet though, who got hung up the phone looking like she wanted to break things.

Emma had fallen asleep against me by the time the clean up in the kitchen finished. "Come on." Violet said quietly after handing her brother back to her mom. "Let's take her upstairs." She sighed as she opened the door to Emma's room, taking in the books and toys scattered on the floor. I followed carefully, picking my way through them as we made our way over to the bed, letting Violet take Emma's shoes off before I settled her under the covers and she kissed her goodnight.

"I'm glad you have someone." I whispered and Violet's eyes snapped to mine from the other side of the bed.

"it's not like that." She said sharply.

"Yes it is. She loves you, and you love her; it makes you happy. I want you to be happy."

"You just wish it was you making me happy." She moved around the bed and started collecting the books that were scattered across the floor.

I leaned down next to her, helping. "Can you blame me?" I waited a beat to see if she'd answer and the only reply I got was stony silence. "So her parents aren't coming home?"

"No." Even with that one little word I could tell she was raging inside. "She wasn't even the first thing they asked about." She hissed, looking disgusted.

A small aftershock rolled through and she gripped my arm until it stopped, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Emma was still asleep. "Vi? What are you going to do when they leave?"

"They're not going to, and why would they? Everything is quiet around here." She said dismissively.

"That's not the only problem." I said quietly, pointing out the obvious.

"I know." Her anger collapsed and I saw tears well up in her eyes. "I just want to love her while I have her. Make her life a little bit better while I can. I can't keep her."

"Why not? Her parents don't care. You love her and she loves you."

"I know." She said miserably. "But she's leaving this house the same way she came in, alive, because they can give her the one thing I can't: a life outside these walls."

"Violet, that's not-"

"No, Tate."

"Fine." I snapped in irritation.

* * *

 

"I'm nice to you because of her Tate, don't read anything more than that into this uneasy truce we've got going on." Violet snapped as she lifted the cigarette to her lips, twisting her head to watch the tea party in progress on the other side of the basement from where we were sitting on the stairs. It was the first time in weeks Violet and I didn't have to participate in one.

"Why haven't you told me to stay away, or forbid her from being friends with me then?"

"There's an exercise in futility." She muttered before exhaling. "What difference would it make if I did either of those things? You might stay away for a few days but unless I disappear again you'll haunt me forever. We both know I won't go away, at least while she's here, because in all these years she's the only thing that's made me feel better."

She ground her cigarette out with unwonted force. "And as for me forbidding her to see you, we both know that's bullshit. I can't deny her anything that makes her happy and she's enchanted with you, not that you don't know that."

I didn't even bother looking contrite as her face flushed angrily. "Margaret and Angie look pretty, did you teach them that?"

"Yeah. Took a while though. They didn't remember what they looked like before they were charbroiled, so I had them imagine what they'd look like as princesses."

"Aren't you just wonderful?" She snapped. "The Great and Powerful Tate. He who brings friends and games and knows the names of all the birds-"

"Jesus, would you shut up." Hayden snapped from behind Violet and we both whipped around. "You two are like divorced parents trying to be nice for the sake of the kid. It's wearing really fucking thin."

"Go fuck yourself." Violet snapped and turned back around.

"Rather be fucking your dad."

"He's probably getting a blowjob from Pat. Tell me does it make you jealous that he's rather his lips around his dick than yours?"

She vanished with an irritated hiss and Violet sighed. "You using Emma to get to me doesn't exactly make me feel forgiving, Tate." It was an honest and unguarded statement, and I repaid her in kind.

"I know. I'm not going to lie and deny it because that's what it was at first, but not now. She's part of you. A part of you I can make happy, and it makes me feel better to make her happy the same way it makes you feel better."

She leaned forward wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head against them. "If I let you be around her don't make me regret it and don't make this about us."

"You make the rules around here." She tilted her head and looked at me for a moment before turning her attention back to Emma.

"Yeah, I do." Her tone left no room for argument.

* * *

 

"Could you at least not look at him like you're going to eat him?" I snapped, picking at the frayed edge of my jeans so I didn't have to look at her, soaked clothing clinging to her body obscenely.

She giggled, adding her voice to the symphony of little girl squeals filling the air as Emma, Margaret, and Angie dashed back and forth through the sprinklers, chased by a shirtless Travis. "Jealous?"

"Yes." I hissed.

"Don't be. He's not my type."

"What is?"

She looked me. "Beautiful, sad, broken boys apparently." My heart stopped. Literally stopped, before it threw itself against my ribs frantically as she gifted me a little smirk.

"Her birthday is coming up. Want to help me pick out a gift?"

"How are you going to manage that?"

"Stole the password to her parents Amazon account."

"Yeah, okay. What did you have in mind?" Just then Emma bounded up.

"Can I go inside and get some popsicles for us?" She asked breathlessly.

"Yeah, but come here." Violet pushed herself up onto her knees and grabbed the towel next to her. "Moira will skin me alive if you track water and grass into the house." She rubbed her over with the towel, tickling her as I tried to ignore the great view I was afforded of Violet's ass.

"Who's that boy?" Emma asked, looking over Violet's shoulder as she wrapped the towel around her.

We both turned to look at the blonde haired, blue eyed boy peering at us over the fence, and my heart stopped for an entirely different reason. "Just the neighbor." Violet said, her voice on the verge of tears. "Go get the popsicles." She sent Emma off with a pat on the behind and sat back down heavily, her eyes somewhere far away.

I saw her wiping away tears before they had a chance to roll down her cheeks when she asked in a strained whisper what it felt like to be a parent. "You tell me." I said harshly. "Sharing genes doesn't make you a parent. You're more of a parent to Emma than I am to that thing. Shit, you're more of a parent to her than her biological parents are."

"I wish she was ours." She said quietly and pushed herself off the gazebo floor to rejoin the watery game of tag in progress, leaving me to tears of my own.

* * *

 

"Fucking finally." Violet walked out of the shadows in the office as Mr. Cooper's footsteps faded up the stairs.

Violet sat down at the desk and flicked on the computer as she pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket as she brought up the website she wanted and typed 'bird house' into the search bar.

I leaned forward in the chair I was sitting in behind her. "That one." I pointed to a yellow one painted with flowering branches and a twig roof. She added it to the shopping cart along with a hummingbird feeder made from a vintage glass bottle and a matching seed feeder.

"You'll have to hang them up while she's downstairs." She murmured.

"I know." I reached forward, aiming for the mouse and meeting her hand instead. She recoiled slightly, and I muttered an apology. "We should get her something else too though, something she can unwrap. You should always have something to unwrap on your birthday."

"What did you have in mind?"

I nudged her out of the way and comically tapped on each key on the keyboard one at a time until she got annoyed and shoved my hands out of the way, and her own fingers flew across it. "Is this what you were looking for?" She asked with a smirk.

"Yeah; red ones though."

* * *

 

"Hey birthday girl, time to get up." Violet tickled her and she squealed, curling up in a little ball. "Don't you want to open your presents?" She sat up, pushing hair out of her face, smiling broadly, and practically vibrating with excitement. I picked her up and carried her to the window, pushing back the blinds to show her the little birdhouse with a feeder on either side, already humming with activity as a pair of bluebirds picked at the seeds and looked at her quizzically.

"Do you like it?"

"I do!" She squealed, and kissed me on the cheek before she leaning out of my arms and placing a kiss on Violet's cheek too.

"We got you something else." Violet pulled a wrapped box from behind her and presented it to Emma. I let her slide down to the floor and she eagerly ripped the paper off, beaming at us when she found a pair of red converse.

"They're like yours!" She exclaimed, pulling them out of the box and holding them out to Violet so she could thread the laces. Violet stayed with her, invisible, when her mother came in. I went downstairs and nicked a hefty plate of food for Beau, leaving him with the promise of a slice of cake later.

When I went back downstairs Violet was waiting for me. "If Emma knows any of these people I'll take a swan dive off the top of the house. It's just another party for her parents to impress their friends." She spit out spitefully as we hung around the edges of the party.

We watched Emma blow out the candles on her birthday cake and bust open a pinata to shower the yard in candy and streamers. It wasn't until she was sitting on her mothers lap opening presents while her parents ignored her, her father talking shop on one side, her mother gossiping on the other, that Violet lost it. I chased her into the house, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into the office where we had some privacy.

She was crying and for once, at least, she let me hold her. "They don't deserve her." She gasped against me.

"She's yours, Vi." I said quietly, trying to soothe her and all it did was make her cry harder.

"She's not, Tate, and in the little ways she is, she shouldn't be. I can't do this anymore." She sobbed. "We have to get them to leave."

I could argue with her that we should keep Emma forever, that she'd be happier with us than out in that filthy horror show of a world, saddled with parents even more unfeeling and callous than mine, but I knew how that argument would end, and I wasn't going to waste my breath on it.

Whatever fresh hell it brought down on me I didn't care; Emma belonged here, with Violet. This was finally something I could give her; finally a way of giving her everything she needed to be happy; finally a way of making things right. I knew she'd be livid with me at first, might actually follow through with her threat, but in the end she'd see I was right.

* * *

 

The house had been a hive of paranormal activity for weeks now. Violet and I spent our nights now in Emma's room watching over her as the other spirits terrorized her parents.

It made me giddy that they thought they were going insane. Their daughter flatly denied anything 'weird' going on; they were beginning to think it was all in their heads. It was perfect. I didn't want them here, infringing on our happiness. They would leave, alive, but Emma would be staying forever, even if I was the only one who knew it.

I was spread out on the couch, running a weary hand over my face as I tried to refine my plans. It was pointless, no one knew how it would happen, and I'd just have to wing it, but I hated leaving so much up to chance for something so important. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't hear her approach.

"It's going to break her heart if she leaves."

"I know."

"Do you?" The soft lilt of her voice over those two words conveying so much more.

"Just get them out the of the house." She nodded and withdrew.

* * *

 

It was nearly three in the morning when the screaming stopped and a terrifying silence followed in its wake. "I can't be here." Violet said in a strained whisper. "I can watch them take her away, Tate." She pleaded with me.

"Go, Vi." I urged as I heard footsteps coming closer. "Go. I'll be here for her." She disappeared just as Emma's mother burst through the door, shaking her awake frantically and standing her on her feet. She was still rubbing sleep from her eyes as her mother began dragging her out the door and into the hallway.

As soon as she realized what was going on she started crying and screaming for Violet first, and then me. I knew wherever Vi was she could hear, and it was tearing at her heart the way it was tearing at mine, only so much worse. I disappeared coming out at the top of the stairs. Emma was twisted around, looking down the hallway, with her back to me when I reached out and fitted my hands around her neck.

I had to repress the revulsion rising in my throat like bile as I snapped her neck and tossed her body down the stairs in one quick movement. I stood for a minute, looking at her small broken body laying at the foot of the stairs, letting my mind dredge up the memory of her and I playing Go Fish in the gazebo that afternoon, and her declaration that she wished Violet and I were her parents. It wasn't the first time she'd said it in the last few weeks.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to find Violet staring at me halfway down the hall, her expression unreadable as I reached out a hand towards her. She disappeared and I dropped to the basement, appearing a few feet behind her. "Violet?"

She whirled around and the next thing I was aware of was a the sting of split lip and her screaming at me. "You son of a bitch!" She shrieked, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "How could you!"

I straightened up, wiping the blood away from my mouth. "Because you're her mother in all the ways that matter! She loves you as much as you love her! How could you listen to her screaming for you and not do anything to keep her here!" I screamed, my anger matching hers.

"Violet." Vivien said gently, stepping out of the shadows next to me. "She belongs here." She said firmly.

Violet's eyes were wild with confusion and anger for a moment before they narrowed to slits. "What happened to not wanting anyone else to die here?" She shot at her before she turned on me. "And you." She pointed a shaking finger at me. "Did you ever think that your life might be better if you weren't constantly trying to please the women in this house?"

"It wasn't her idea."

I took a step forward, but Vivien placed a hand on my arm and stepped forward into the line of fire instead. "I don't want anyone to die here." She said calmly. "But those people upstairs who have the gall to call themselves her parents are anything but that. They don't care about her. They don't love her. She's nothing to them and she deserves better than that. She deserves someone who will love her forever. Just because you didn't give birth to her doesn't mean anything; she's yours."

Her anger wilted and she stumbled backwards into the wall, trying to catch her breath as sobs wracked through her small frame. Vivien walked up, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Violet slapped it away angrily.

She slapped at my hand too at first, but let me pull her against me as she cried after that. I kissed the top of her head. I let her cry as sirens approached the house; as the heavy front door swung open with a bang and feet pounded across the floor. "Violet. She's going to wake up soon, we have to find her." I reminded her and she nodded vaguely, letting me lead her around the basement by the hand until we found Emma in a small alcove, perfect but unanimated.

She slid down the wall and waited, smoking her way through half a pack of cigarettes as the minutes ticked by. Finally Emma stirred to life, lifting up her eyes and looking around curiously. She looked intently at Violet and I saw tears slide down her cheeks as she motioned Emma into her lap to wrap her arms around her tightly.

I knew they were talking; knew Violet was trying to explain to her what happened. I couldn't hear their words or see their faces, and a paranoid panic picked at my brain about what Violet could be telling her. Even though we were only a few feet apart I'd never felt so invisible, so alone as I did in that moment. I felt cold and empty, excommunicated, from the things I loved and terrified of the future.

Emma fell asleep against Violet eventually, and when the sun was high in the sky I couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Are you okay?" I asked Violet, and she slowly lifted her face from where it had been resting against the top of Emma's head, meeting my eyes.

"Don't talk to me."

"Violet?"

"No." She snapped. "You don't get a say in this decision, just like I didn't get a say in her death. And when she starts crying for her parents guess what? You're going to be the one who explains to her that she has to stay with us. You're the one who's going to dry those tears. I don't care if you never wanted to be a father. You're one now and you're going to own up to your actions for once."

 


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't need eye shadow." Tate grumbled.

"Yes you do." Said Emma cheerfully as she advanced on him, her hand clutched around little plastic wand like a weapon. He sighed and closed his eyes and she gleefully smeared chartreuse powder across his lids.

He looked mournfully at the little containers of colored powders spread across Emma's play table when he opened his eyes again.

"You look like a really colorful frog." I smirked, and he glared at me, knees up near his shoulders from sitting in the kid sized chair.

As soon as Emma's back was turned he flipped me off with a smirk. "Em, can I please wash this off?" He pleaded when she turned her attention back to him.

She stuck her lip out in a full pout and looked at him sullenly. He grabbed for her, smearing shimmery lip gloss across her cheeks as he kissed her, banishing her pout in a fit of giggles before I pulled her away.

"Mmmm... What flavor was that lip gloss?" I asked after kissing her on the cheek and licking my lips. "Cherry?"

"Strawberry." She corrected.

I carried her into the bathroom and sat her on the counter before pulling some baby wipes out and cleaning the mess off her cheeks. I tossed Tate the package as he walked in and Emma's pout was back. "You can do all different colors tomorrow."

"No she can't." Her eyes swiveled between us like she was watching a tennis match.

I gave him a meaningful look. "Yes she can."

"Yes she can." He said, defeated. I nudged him out of the way and held Emma up so she could wash her hands before taking her back to her room, and settling her under the covers while we waited for Tate to come back.

"I'm not sleepy." She said silently, fighting against a yawn.

"Okay." I brushed the hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears. "Just close your eyes and rest while Tate reads to you." Tate came back in, standing next to the bed and peering down at her. I knew she was trying to convince him she wasn't tired too, and he just shook his head.

I leaned down so she could wrap her arms around my neck before I kissed her cheek and told her I loved her. "I love you too." It was our usual bedtime routine, even before she died, but it was still nice to have someone who loved you, to hear it and not have it hurt. Tate went through the same motions as me before seating himself in the rocking chair and picking up the book. He read out loud so we could all hear.

Twenty minutes of secret gardens and animal charming boys and she drifted off into a deep sleep. I turned the light off and we slipped out of the room. I couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief. Twenty-three days since she died, and the closest she'd gotten to asking for her parents was to ask when she was going back to preschool. I almost cried. Almost.

It was a non-issue; she'd always been happier spending her days at home playing with Lorraine's little girls and Travis than going to preschool so when we told her she wouldn't be, she smiled. I almost cried because of that too. I walked down the hallway to the bathroom, each step a monumental effort, because this was the worst part of my day. The part of the day when I couldn't push away what happened because Emma needed me to be strong for her.

"Vi?" I turned and looked at Tate as my hand gripped the doorknob. "Never mind." He said awkwardly, the desire he felt to reach out and touch me visible on every inch of him. It was the same every night, and I would have been grateful if the familiarity of it would breed contempt because at least then it would stop hurting.

He was still standing there as the door closed between us. I leaned against it to resist the temptation to let him wrap his arms around me and make me feel safe, or at least let him shelter me from my worries before they crushed me.

I pushed myself away, turning on the faucet in the tub, waiting for it to get blisteringly hot. Emma's parents had left the day she died; staying only long enough after the coroner's office left with her body to pack some bags. Emma slept through all of it, and I was grateful. A week later a team of assistants descended on the house and packed up all of their personal belongings, leaving the furniture and Emma's room untouched.

I lowered myself into the water slowly, gritting my teeth through the too hot embrace as a lit cigarette already dangled from my lips. This was the only place that felt like home other than him, and it was funny to me; vampires probably felt the same way about their coffins. I suppose I could have hunted up Hugo, found out if a good old-fashioned spite fuck made me feel better, and doing that wouldn't hurt my mother who was just as guilty as Tate, so what was the point?

I closed my eyes trying not to think of all my fears and inadequacies, tried to not let them pick at my brain like hungry insects. When the pain of the scalding water and the burn of cigarette smoke didn't work I reached for an old friend hidden under a bottle of body wash. I didn't bother with a timid preamble anymore. I wanted it to hurt. The sooner it hurt, the sooner I felt better.

It burned when it tore into the soft flesh on the underside of my upper arm. The razor was rusty and dull and that was even better than a sharp blade. A sharp blade just sort of stung; a dull one hurt.

Left. Right. Upper. Lower. Old actions, new patterns. My cuts were like a dinner bell to Pavlov's dogs because by the time I was contemplating making patterns on the top of my thigh I could smell him on the steam permeating the small room, intensifying it until the harsh copper smell of blood was mixed with the scent of him. I flicked the shower curtain closed around me.

"If you don't like it, don't watch." I could see his shadow form and outline against the plastic. I propped my foot up on the edge of the tub and made three nice lines, like exclamation marks, against the top of my thigh just to spite him.

His shadow moved, sitting heavily on the floor, head bowed. I could imagine him out there, my sad broken boy, pulling a loose strand out of the well worn jeans or sweater he wore. The only sound between us for a while the inaudible tear of the blade and swishing tinkle of water as I cleaned off the blood after each cut.

"Did I do something wrong? I thought I was doing okay with Em; I thought that's what you wanted."

"It is and you are." I tried to stamp out the bitterness I felt at him being round. It was easier when she was here, when I could forget that he was only doing what he was doing to get back in my good graces. When I could forget for the moment that he was using her because as much as I hated to admit it he was good with her. All those soft and sweet sides I remembered and didn't want to were constantly on display. It didn't help because once I was away from her I couldn't forget his reasons for doing it.

"I thought you'd be happier now, having Emma to take care of; I was always happier when I had you to take care of."

"I thought I was the one who needed taking care of. Isn't that why you almost killed that guy?" The silence was ringing in my ears. "I don't know why you thought killing Em would fix anything."

I wasn't going to tell him that I was happy. Deep under the fears and worries and insecurities and inadequacies I was happy. Even if I tried to ignore it there was a part of me that was elated she was mine, that I'd never have to give her up, that was waiting for the day when she'd call me 'mommy'. That was the part of me that was fueling the self-destruction now.

Not that I was going to tell him any of that. "Is that why you loved me? Because I let you take care of me?"

"No."

"That's not why I love her either." I said sharply.

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong so I could fix it." There was a note of defeat and all it did was make me angry.

"That. That's the problem, right there." I said harshly. "Every time I tell you what's wrong you try to fix things and all it does it make it worse. I don't need you to fix my life, Tate."

"Then what do you need?" The haste of his reply communicating the determination he felt to give me anything I might need.

I needed a lot of things, but what I needed more than anything right now was for it to be okay to be vulnerable; to a allow a chink in the careful armor I wore so I could bleed out my worries.

I heard the sharp intake of breath he was hoping would calm him before he spoke again. "Fine. I won't try to fix anything, just fucking talk to me."

I sat there for a long time, the sharp tink, tink, tink of steel against porcelain belying my impatience with myself. I always wanted to tell him what was wrong, always wanted to confide in him, to let him see that side that no one else saw, and I hated that if I did I knew I'd feel better. "She hasn't even been here six months." But maybe in this one instance he was the perfect one for me to share my worries with, because he'd felt them before too, with me.

For once nothing but silence met my words and that made it easier. "What if I'm not enough for her? I worry I won't be enough to keep her happy; forever's a long time. I mean her parents were shitty, but I just... every day I worry that she's going to realize they're gone forever and they're not coming back and I won't be enough for her. I can't protect her from that, and I can't make it better."

I took a deep breath. "And what if in a few years I won't want this? I won't want her? What if it becomes too much and I have to disappear into the house again? Who's going to take care of her then? You? My parents? The only reason you care about her is because you want me back."

"Then why didn't you tell her I killed her?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Because I couldn't save her. Because I'm just as guilty as you. All I wanted to do was protect her and the one time I wasn't there to do it you killed her." There was that crushing guilt too, for not protecting her from that. "Why didn't you tell her?"

"Because it would break her heart. Because when she looks at me she doesn't see a monster; she looks at me like you used to. I don't want to lose that again."

"Honestly, Tate, her finding out what really happened that night is the least of my worries."

He shifted, leaning up against the wall next to me. "Can I say something then?"

"I guess."

"The house always gives us what we need in the end. If I hadn't died here I never would have met you. If I had been alive when I met you I would have been in my mid-30's, and what if I'd moved to Kansas or something? Without the house I wouldn't have found you, and I don't care what you think, I know that even with six billion other people on the planet you're the one, the only one. She was meant to be yours; the house was just the means of facilitating it."

"And I don't worry about you getting bored with her in a few years, or deciding you don't like being a parent and abandoning her. She owns you like you own me. I see the way you look at her, Vi. I see how happy she makes you, how much she's a part of you. I will always be here, waiting, just like you'll always be there for her."

"What if that's just the house?" I said miserably. Sometimes I really hated that I was cursed with ovaries because of the effect this stupid fucking house had on them.

"It's not." A simple statement only possible if you had a penis and lived here. "Anyway, kids take to it better I think. Look at Lorraine's little girls; they're perfectly happy having tea parties with Travis from now until whenever. Their world is smaller, simpler at that age, and she's even younger. Just because you think she's missing out doesn't mean she does."

I sighed. "Hand me a towel."

* * *

 

Little gentle fingers were tracing my face when I opened my eyes to meet the sea green ones that were watching me curiously. "Hi." It was always the best part of my day.

"Hi." I smiled at her and she smiled back before I rolled over, extending an arm to wrap around her.

"You're pretty. I want to look like you when I grow up." She was still watching me, and I was fighting not to let the pain her words created to show on my face, or leak out my eyes. "I dressed myself this morning." She said proudly, not noticing the gaping hole in my chest that had opened up.

"Did you?"

She nodded. "But Grandma Vivien had to tie my shoes for me." She scooted off the bed and did a little twirl next to it so I could take in her outfit: a purple dress with white and purple striped tights, and red converse.

"Very pretty."

She crawled back up on the bed and kissed my sloppily on the cheek. "Where's Tate?"

"In the attic with Beau probably." And she was gone, skipping out the door and down the hall calling his name.

I let my head fall back heavily against the bank of pillows. I was going to kill Vivien.

* * *

 

"Bet you enjoyed that." I muttered as my dad walked out kitchen door to join me. "Must be nice to be the one who didn't fuck up for once, huh?"

He sat down, looking at me crossley. At least he didn't look like he was going to cry. Yet. "It's been over a month, you're going to have to give her a break at some point. I don't see you ripping Tate's head off all the time."

"That doesn't mean I'm not punishing him for what he did."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is. You think he's wants to be Emma's bitch all the time? We all know why he's doing this, and it's not because of her."

He laughed. "Do you really think so?" I shot him a filthy look; he of all people should know better. If memory served he was the one who diagnosed Tate as a psychopath and pathological liar.

He pulled a cigarette from my pack and lit it. "If you're going to let him help with Emma your mom deserves the same chance. I don't agree with what she did, but she loves you. The thing that hurt her the most was that while her and I got a fresh start when we died, you didn't. You got stuck in this place with someone who broke your heart and nothing else. She wants you to be happy. She sees how much Emma has made you better. Nobody wanted anyone else to die here, but Emma's better off here, with you, than she'd be out there with her 'parents'." He made little air quotes around the world.

He smoked in silence for a few minutes before he seemed to make up his mind about something and spoke again. "Who are you really made at? Because that - what happened in there - it's not about your mom."

"Then what's it about?" I snapped.

"Maybe you just don't want to admit to yourself that the reason you let Tate around her in the first place, the reason you left Emma with him that night, was because you knew what he'd do, and it was what you wanted. You just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Maybe it's time to get off your high horse, Vi."

"You know what she said to me this morning?" I spat at him, unwilling to acknowledge his words or that part of me that wondered, very deep down, if he wasn't right. "That I was pretty and she wanted to be like me when she grew up. How the hell am I supposed to feel about that? What am I supposed to do when she asks me why she isn't growing up?"

Before he could say anything I walked back in the house, slamming the door behind me. Sometimes it sucked living with a shrink.

* * *

 

"Come on." His was whiny, needling. "Please. Ten minutes."

"Fine." I gave in with a sigh and opened my eyes to find myself on the roof.

"Over here." Tate called and I made my way across the slope of the roof to where he sat. On the opposite side of the house from Constance's. I didn't miss that.

"Wow. Fire. Thrilling." I said as I sat down.

"It's pretty."

"Was Larry when you lit him on fire?"

"Yep." He smiled, and even though I knew I shouldn't, I did too.

I tucked my skirt under my legs to keep it from flapping in the hot winds carrying ash over the city as the hills burned. Even though it was miles away, and I couldn't see the people, I knew where they were was chaos. But life in the city below the hills went on as usual. Head lights snaked through the streets; I could hear the sounds people and music floating in with the ash, a dog barking somewhere close by. Life went on even in the face of tragedy.

"You know I didn't really leave the basement when you were gone, but I'd always come up here and watch this every year."

"Who needs T.V. when you've got natural disasters for your viewing pleasure?"

He laughed. "It wasn't like that. I guess it made me feel better. If I couldn't have you I didn't see the point in anything else. I would have burned the world down if I could."

"Could have burned the house down."

"You were inside it; it might have hurt you."

"That's kind of sweet."

"Thanks." He said awkwardly.

"So is that why you drug me up here? To charm me with you nihilism?"

"No." He grimaced. "Em's out for the night, it's nice up here. I thought you might want to do something other than sit in your room and read."

"I like books. It's nice to live in a different world for a while."

He was quiet as we shared a cigarette. "Do you ever think you'll want me again?" His voice was an inch tall and filled with guilt.

"I can't even think about that right now, Tate, not with everything going on with Emma."

"It's settling down. I just want you to know that you can have me too. If you ever get... sick of your books or whatever, or want to play cards or Scrabble or something once she's asleep, I'm here. I mean, this world can be nice too, you know?"

I leaned my face against my knees and looked at him. It would be so much easier if I wanted to get over him. He did the same thing, the flames in the hills forgotten, the ones between us flaring. "I don't know if I can ever be with you again. I don't know if I can love you again, like I did; I don't know if I can feel safe with you."

Pain washed across his face and he tried to hide it, but he couldn't hide it in his voice when he said he understood that, and it tore at me because even with everything as fucked up as everything was between us I still loved him.

Sometimes I thought I fell in love with him when he was giving me suicide tips in the bathroom. I hadn't wanted anyone else since that moment. I wished he felt the same way. But it wasn't enough to stop him from doing what he did. I wished it were.

* * *

 

I was trying to read. Trying to. But inevitably my eyes were drawn up away from the text across the page to watch Tate and Emma across the yard from me. I watched the expressions flit across their face, but they weren't giving away whatever it was that they were talking about. He lifted her up, blowing a raspberry on her stomach before setting her down again and chasing her around the yard for a while. It made me smile despite myself, watching them.

"You know there really isn't a greater aphrodisiac than children." Chad drawled as he sat down next to me.

"I wouldn't know." I said stiffly.

"Yes you would. I've been watching you watch them for the last forty-five minutes with that hungry look on your face."

Tate sat down in the shade of a tree and pushed the messy, and probably damp, curls away from his eyes. I remembered when they were damp for other reasons because Chad wasn't entirely wrong; in fact he was completely right. I missed him. I missed him being mine; in my bed, on the attic floor, in my dad's office. I smiled at the memory of that last one.

I remembered what it was like afterwards; the way he'd trace patterns on my back as his breathing steadied. I wasn't even aware I'd drifted away from the backyard and breathing hard at the memory of how I straddled across him as he sat in one of the dining room chairs; the way the ridge around the head of his cock caressed me inside as I slid up and down, fingers dug into his shoulders. Then I remembered where else that appendage had been and I wanted to throw up.

* * *

 

Lorraine was smoldering prettily in the dark a few feet away from me. It was nice next to her, warm, you just had to make sure you sat her on a really wet patch of grass. Emma was in my lap, bent over the book of constellations as she held the flashlight in her hand.

"I think that's Hercules." Angie said, pointing up at a patch of sky.

"Where?" Said Emma, her head tilted up.

"There."

"Oh... yeah, I think it is." She said with all the certainty she could muster, but I was sure she couldn't see Hercules any more than I could, which was not at all.

"There's the big dipper." I pointed up.

"Everyone can find that, Violet." Margaret giggled.

"Yeah." Emma parroted, and I tickled her; little smart ass.

Lorraine let her girls stay outside until the sounds of Constance shrieking like the shrew she is rent the night air. Apparently her new dog walker left something to be desired. Tate was inside with my dad, locked away in his old office having a 'session'. I couldn't imagine that going well, but since my dad couldn't have living patients he spent his time with dead ones. He said it kept intellectually engaged. I thought that was bullshit, but boredom was a common disease in this house.

Emma leaned back against me, keeping the chill at bay now that our space heater had gone inside. "Where did my mom and dad go Violet?" I wanted to die. I wanted the earth to open up under me and swallow me whole. I seriously contemplated picking her up, walking into the office, setting her on Tate's lap, and walking out. I didn't.

"I don't know, Em. They went away, and I don't know where they went."

"Are they coming back?" There was a little wobble of fear to her voice.

"No." I forced the word out and waited, bracing myself for what was coming.

"Am I going to have to leave too?"

"No." My heart felt like it was trying to force itself out my chest.

"Promise?"

"Yeah." This time I really did cry. Just a few silent tears of relief.

I was sitting on the stairs waiting for Tate when he came out of the office. "Where's the midget?"

"Kitchen, with my mom, having a cup of hot chocolate. She asked about her parents." My mind was such a mess of emotions I was finding it hard to formulate coherent thoughts.

He sat down next to me, carefully, like I might beat him to death. If Emma had freaked out about her parents leaving I might have. "What did she say?"

"She made me promise that she could stay here."

He didn't say anything, just rubbed his hand up and down my back until Emma came out of the kitchen wearing a hot chocolate mustache.

* * *

 

"You seem happier."

I laid my tiles out on the board. "I'm cursed with shitty, low number tiles tonight, but other than that, yes, I am happier, well less worried I guess."

Tate wrote down my score before contemplating the lettered tiles in front of him. "It's settling down."

"For now." I added, my natural pessimism floating to the surface.

He frowned. "Halloween's coming up." He said as he set his tiles on the board. "Are you planning on doing something?" His voice was light, inquisitive, and it hurt a little bit because he said 'you' and not 'us'.

"My parents are doing something with the baby; they invited us."

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know; I tuned them out pretty quickly. I'm sure trick-or-treating was involved. I can't really stomach being around them for too long though."

"Why?"

"It's kind of nauseating; they're so in love." I scowled at the board. Being around them just reminded me of what I didn't have.

"Oh." His voice was surprised, and hurt.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought you might have another reason for not wanting to go."

"Like what?"

"Nothing."

"No, not 'nothing'. What?"

"I wasn't invited."

"Oh." I suddenly realized I wasn't the only one who was hurting here; that I really didn't have a reason to be. "We can't trick-or-treat, not around here anyway. The Dead Breakfast Club would sort of ruin that. Besides I wasn't sure you cared that much; it is your one day of freedom. I wasn't sure if you'd want to spend it with Emma and I."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Your thing with her, it's about me."

"No it's not, you just think it is." His tone was harsh and his eyes hard behind the fringe of hair that hung down around them. "I could have let her leave."

I sat watching him, apprehensive.

"If she left who would you have run to for comfort?" Even if I hated to admit it I knew he was right. "I'm not going to lie and say that at first I wanted to be her friend because it was a way to get you back, but once I was around you two I realized how much a part of you she was, and vice-versa." He leaned back on his hands, looking at me appraisingly, sizing me up. "It would have been a lot easier to let her leave if the only thing I wanted was you. Maybe if you stopped believing the worst of me you would have seen that."

I wanted to snap that it was hard to believe anything other than the worst since he was always living up to that until I realized he wasn't, not anymore anyway. "What do you want?"

He blushed. Actually fucking blushed before he ducked his face so I couldn't see it. "I love her because she's a part of you, but I love just her too." He said in an embarrassed voice.

"It's her first Halloween; I want to do something special." I laid out some tiles on the board, relieving the awkward tension that had descended on us.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. We'll have to do it during the day or get far enough away that your fan club can't ruin it."

"That won't be a problem, Constance leaves every year, we'll just borrow her car. We'll figure something out. Worst case scenario we'll just drive until we find something fun, which shouldn't be too hard since I've got a couple grand stashed away."

"Since when?" I goggled at him.

He shrugged. "Mrs. Cooper kept it hidden in a purse in the back of the closet. I made sure it wasn't there when they came to pack up their shit."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you." He said like it was nothing, but he looked pleased with himself because I was.

We finished three games in silence, and I lost to him every time I was so distracted by what he said to me, and the fact that he'd been planning for the future even if he hadn't told me about it. When we finished I laid across the bed, trying to work out the kink in my back from sitting so long on the floor. "Goodnight." Tate said as he picked up the game and headed out the door.

"Tate?" I could see him vibrating with nervousness in the doorway. "It makes a difference to me, that you're trying."

He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "I love you." He said it like it was an explanation and affirmation in one before slinking out the door quietly. Love you too I thought to myself after he'd gone.

* * *

 

I was watching Pat and Travis in the backyard out the attic window. They had dug some rusty, ancient clippers out of the garage and were trying to tame the jungle that the backyard had become since The Cooper's had stopped paying the gardeners. I kinda liked it in its wild state, but when you've got nothing else to do you become anal retentive about the most inconsequential shit.

We still had a week before Halloween and it was hot enough outside doing manual labor that they'd both stripped down to the waist as they worked. I could see Chad lazily watching them on the back patio, holding a glass of white wine in his hand. He kept throwing bitch faces over the fence to where Constance was watching the men work just as lasciviously.

"Think your mom will be over later." I threw over my shoulder to Tate who was on the floor with Emma, rolling the ball back and forth to Beau.

"Great." He deadpanned.

I kept my eyes on the scene below. There was a pile of greenery in the middle of the yard, and I wondered what they were going to do with it; no one had paid the trash bill either. It seemed kind of stupid; if they were going to keep paying the electric and gas bill why not the trash and gardeners? They couldn't know we'd get anymore more use out of the former than the latter. I kind of liked the idea of living with candles for light, not so much the idea of cold showers though.

I was so zoned out worrying about what would happen when the house eventually changed hands again and what that would mean for Emma that I didn't notice the minor argument going on behind me until Emma's voice reached that shrill, tired-and-on-the-verge-of-a-tantrum level. "No! I don't want to. I want to stay and play with Beau!" She said loudly and defiantly, and I turned to find Tate looking from her to me in a complete state of shock and totally out of his depth.

He'd never had to deal with her refusing him anything, and the fact that she wasn't always going to do as she was told with a smile on her face was fucking with his world view. "Emma!" I said sharply, and she turned to face me, looking contrite. She scuffed her shoe against the bare wood floor. "I don't wanna take a nap."

"Do you want to play tag later?" She nodded, looking down at her feet. "Then you'll take a nap, won't you?" She nodded again. She followed me silently to her room, clambering up on the bed, pouting the whole time as I took her shoes off. "And don't call for Margaret and Angie or anyone else." I said sternly and she rolled over, putting her back to me in a fit of petulance.

I led Tate out by the hand since he seemed too stunned by her outburst to do anything other than stand there stupidly, sitting him down on my bed. "You look like you're regretting your decision to kill her." I said lightly and his head whipped around, his eyes terrified by my flippancy and I knew I'd hit closer to the mark than he'd like to admit. "You shouldn't be."

"I wasn't."

"Yes you were." I teased and he looked horrified. "Stop it. You've seen her have tantrums before, with me. She's five, it's going to happen. If anything, it's a good thing."

"How's that?"

"She knows you love her. She's been so good for you because she was worried you didn't like her; she was trying to win you over. Now she knows you still will love her even if she misbehaves."

"Really?" His voice was full of wonder.

"Really." I smiled at him.

"You're really a good mom, you know that right?" I grimaced and shook my head. It was too weird to think of myself in those terms. "No, Vi, you are." He said emphatically. "You barely have to raise your voice with her when she gets like that. Constance would have beat my ass if I pulled that shit."

"Mothers who eat their young are better than Constance."

"It doesn't change the fact that you're good with her."

I leaned back against the headboard. "So Halloween? We've got a week to figure something out." I tried to distract him. He leaned back on his elbows casually, and we both sat there picking our brains, discarding a dozen ideas between us. The biggest obstacle was that we just didn't know what was going on in the outside world. The city outside the gates was like a foreign land and we were ignorant of what it offered.

Tate was flat on his back muttering to himself when he suddenly looked at me. "Disneyland. It's far enough away, and even if they show up there they won't be let in looking like they do."

I didn't even have time to respond before an excited shriek pierced the air and my door, which had been cracked open, banged noisily against the wall as Emma threw it open and ran into the room, jumped on the bed, and sat in front of my vibrating with excitement.

"Can we really go to Disneyland for Halloween mommy?" She was bouncing up and down, looking from me to Tate, who was doubled over gasping for breath.

"What?" Was my bewildered reply.

"Please, please, please can we go to Disneyland for Halloween mommy?"

"Sure, Em, if that's what you want."

"I do!" She squealed and threw her arms around my neck, nearly choking me.

I looked over at Tate who was curled in on himself. "Are you okay?"

"She kneed me in the junk." He ground out, but he still smiled... eventually.

When Tate had sufficiently recovered we started the promised game of tag, Emma disappearing right before our eyes like a Chesire Cat, huge smile spread across her face. I pushed myself up off the to give chase, but before I could Tate pulled me against him, holding me tightly as a small smile pushed up the dimples in his cheeks.

I let him, because he was the only person I could share this with; the only one who wouldn't judge me for being happy that she was dead and I was her mom now. It was our own quiet celebration.

* * *

 

Halloween dawned sunny and mild and Emma was so excited she woke me up by jumping up and down on the bed. "Wake up mommy!" She exclaimed as I rolled over, throwing an arm across my face.

"No. Still sleepy." I teased her, and I felt her little hands gripping my arm and tugging it away as she chanted wake up, wake up, wake up. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and sat up. "Where's Tate?" If I was going to suffer sleep deprivation so was he.

"I don't know, he left forever ago. He took me downstairs to help Grandma Vivien put up decorations while he went shopping." She trilled out as she pulled me out of bed.

Once I got her dressed for the day I sent her back downstairs so I could do the same. I was halfway through getting dressed when Tate walked in and stood shell-shocked in the doorway because I was only wearing a skirt and bra. "Sorry." He muttered, but didn't take his eyes off me.

"Stop looking at my tits." I smirked.

"Stop showing them off." He sounded like his tongue was swollen in his mouth, and I liked that I still could have that effect on him. He snapped out of it when I pulled my shirt on. "I brought home coffee." He lifted up the cup of Starbuck's proudly, like he'd gone to South America and harvested the beans himself.

I took it from his hands gratefully. "I love you." I said with a moan after my first sip before handing it back to him and digging around behind the dresser where I'd stashed my nanny money.

"Jesus." Tate hissed. "You have, what? Ten thousand dollars here?"

"A little over nine actually. But five hundred a week, plus bonuses for the nights they went out... it adds up when you only have one day a year to spend it. Oh yeah, and when they were in San Diego they doubled my pay for those three days since I had to stay around the clock."

Tate watched me sullenly as I counted a thousand out. "You're not going to need all that." His voice was a little offended. It was kinda cute. "I have plenty for this Halloween; save that for next year."

"Just in case." I shrugged, shoving it in my bag and putting the rest back where it belonged. One last check to make sure we had everything we'd need and we went downstairs, collecting Emma on the way out the door; she was thrumming with excitement as we buckled her into the backseat and drove away from the Murder House for our one day of freedom.

* * *

 

We blended in well with the crowds once we got there, looking a little younger than we should maybe, but not so young as to be unbelievable. Mostly it was parents with kids about Emma's age since Halloween fell on a school day this year. I had never been to Disneyland before, so I was watching just as wide-eyed as Emma as we rode the tram to the front gates, Tate's arm slung around my shoulders as Emma sat on my lap.

Once we were inside we rented a stroller for when Emma got tired later and let her lead us around and pick out the rides. The entire place was bedecked in Mickey Mouse shaped pumpkins and fake spiderwebs even though the Halloween party wasn't supposed to start until after dark.

We went to Neverland first in a flying ship, then Wonderland on the back of a pink caterpillar. She loved the Alice in Wonderland ride so much we bought her the costume for later when she'd get to trick-or-treat in the park. We rode on Casey Jr.'s circus train and took a spin in a Teacup before she drug us to Small World. Tate smiled at me sympathetically over her head when we got stuck in a pile-up of boats and spent twenty unmoving minutes being subjecting to creepy singing puppets.

A crazy ride through the English countryside to Toad Hall, a boat through Storybook Land and we moved to another area of the park, stopping at the petting zoo hidden away in a corner. Emma was thrilled with being able to pet goats and sheep; all the barnyard animals she'd only seen in books because no one had taken her to a petting zoo before. She was so fond of a white goat with black tipped ears that she kissed its nose and waved to it when we left.

We walked slowly, enjoying the relative emptiness of the park. "A lot has changed." Tate said, looking around.

"How long has it been since you've been here?"

"I was fourteen, my junior high came here for graduation, all the junior high's did. So... thirty years? Something like that. Splash Mountain." He pointed to the ride we were passing "Wasn't even open yet. Everyone was really excited for it though, I remember that." We crested a small hill and there was a huge white mansion. "That's the Haunted Mansion." Tate smiled at me, he knew I was looking forward to it. The irony was too good to pass up.

"Later. I want to wait until it's dark out."

"Is it really haunted?" Emma asked excitedly.

Tate scooped her up in his arms. "Of course it's haunted, Em. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine ghosts living there."

"How do they all fit?"

"It's a lot bigger than our house."

After a ride to the Hundred Acre Woods Tate insisted we go on Pirates of the Caribbean, even though it was early afternoon already and I was more inclined to get lunch first.

"Like the movie!" Emma exclaimed as she walked between us, one hand in mine, the other in Tate's. He looked at me quizzically.

"They made it into a movie; three or four actually, last I knew."

We were once again floating along in boat, and Tate pointed over the side, where a restaurant bordered the artificial shore. "We're going to eat lunch over there, Em." He smiled at her, before looking up at me. "I finally get to take your mommy out for a nice meal." He added quietly, and I avoided meeting his eye by looking a pitch black gaping hole that was slowly drawing closer; each boat in front of us disappearing in the roar of water and screams.

"Tate." I said warily.

"It's fine. Little drop."

Too soon we were descending down a hidden ramp in a rush of air before landing safely in another river of water. Emma was giggling, relieving me of the fear that she'd be scared to tears by it. We floated through Port Royal and Tortuga, Emma gleefully singing along to the animatronic pirates as they pillaged villages and shot at each other.

We emerged into a maze of the Disney approximation of New Orleans' French Quarter, and Tate guided us over The Blue Bayou restaurant, sitting Emma on his lap and making funny faces at her while we waited for a table. It was beautiful nighttime landscape inside, lit by candles on the table and hanging from the ceiling. Everything felt muffled, far away; you'd never know you were in an amusement park in the middle of sunny Southern California. It was a place that made you want to speak in muted voices for fear of breaking the spell.

Tate dissolved into paroxysms of ecstasy with the first bite of his Monte Cristo sandwich. "God, I forgot how good those are." He said, savoring every bite. I had to admit, they were amazing; who knew dipping a turkey, ham, and swiss cheese sandwich in batter, deep frying it, and dusting it with powdered sugar would be so good?

I looked around as I ate, enjoying the space and it's piped in music of frogs croaking while fake fireflies danced on the ceiling. It was nice, romantic without being cliche, and I could see why he wanted to bring me here. But the best part was that he didn't make a big deal of it; we talked and joked and doted on Emma just like we would if we were at a McDonald's.

After lunch we took the pontoon boat over to Tom Sawyer island and let Emma run through the caves that dotted it until she got tired, finding a secluded corner with a bench and plenty of shade eventually. She didn't want to take a nap, but we wouldn't be home for hours and I knew she'd need it, so I made her sit in the rented stroller and 'rest'.

I let him drape an arm across my shoulders and hold me there as we watched her sleep, the ducks in the man-made river quacking in protest every time the big paddle boat went by. She woke with a yawn and a stretch ready to direct us around the park like a little princess, telling us imperiously that she wasn't tired and didn't need the stroller anymore. We kept it anyway.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Emma didn't seem to tire, never getting enough of the rides. As the hours wore on Tate seemed to grow more affectionate, or maybe just more bold in his affections. He kept a hand against my back as I pushed the stroller through the park and an arm snaked around me as we waited in lines. I didn't mind. I knew he was happy, just like I was, that we could have a day untainted by sadness, or fear, or anger. I just hoped he realized today was different, special; tomorrow the same shit that haunted us would still be there.

When the sun started to sink below the horizon I ducked into a bathroom to dress Emma up as Alice, her costume more Tim Burton than classic Disney, but I liked that. This, more than any other part of our day, was about her. I wanted her to have a special Halloween, but I wanted her to do the same things every kid gets to do too. From what she told me she never got to celebrate it before; her parents were too busy partying to do anything with her, and her last nanny thought Halloween was 'the Devil's birthday', whatever that meant.

She was radiating happiness when we walked out of the bathroom, and for the first time ever I felt proud, like a mom, as I watched her. I couldn't stop looking at her, how happy she was, walking between Tate and I as the Halloween festivities kicked into high gear. The park was lit up eerily with orange and purple lights as banks of phantom fogs drifted around.

We went all around the park, following the Trick or Treat Trails until her bag was filled to the brim, stopping occasionally so she could meet Donald Duck dressed as a pirate or let Tinkerbell sprinkle fairy dust over her. Finally, when we were on the correct side of the park again, we got in line for the Haunted Mansion, only having to wait a few minutes before we were ushered into the eerie southern mansion.

I picked Emma up so she'd be able to see more than people's legs as we entered the first stage of the ride, a room that seemed to stretch the longer you stood in it. The grim looking attendant shouted for everyone to clear the center of the room and Tate wrapped his arms around us, pulling me against his chest as he moved us back to the wall.

I should have been paying more attention to the ride, considering I'd never been on it before, but the only thing I could register was the way my spine fitted against his chest as he held me. How his breath turned from gentle to ragged next to my ear at the contact. I closed my eyes, feeling like I was melting into him as he held me there. And then there was a loud crash of thunder and screams, and my eyes flew open just in time to see a skeleton illuminated in its flash, suspended from the ceiling.

I hadn't even noticed the lights had gone out until they came back on and the doors slid open to reveal a long hallway lined with pictures that seemed to move and morph as you looked at them. We squeezed into a Doom Buggy and drifted our way through the darkened halls of the great mansion looking down on a ghostly dinner party, listening to Madame Leota's sinister predictions, and taking in a graveyard party before we were faced with mirrors that reflected hitchhiking ghosts, making Emma scoot onto my lap to make room for our portly, blue toned guest.

We trooped back to the center of the park for the big finale, the fireworks show. Jack Skellington's face rose above the castle like a giant moon, his dog Zero flying around before the first fireworks burst orange and purple against the night sky. Emma watched with rapt attention as the fireworks bloomed in the sky, flashing us in a rainbow of colors, and covering her ears when they burst in a rapid tattoo but smiling. After the last boom her face fell. "It's over?" She pulled away from Tate to look at his face, suddenly sad.

He nodded and she nestled her face against his neck as his hand found mine to lead us out of the park, and back to the car. She was asleep by the time we got there, and we settled her in the back seat, covering her with a blanket. It was late and we were weary, and as we felt our day of freedom coming to a close it was like the nets of our problems were closing in on us again, subtly.

"Do you feel like going home yet?" Tate asked, staring straight ahead the whole time, nervous.

"No."

* * *

 

"How do you like your fries? Crispy?"

"Yeah."

Tate leaned out the window to the speaker. I caught a few words here and there, 'animal style' and 'well done' among them. We waited in the long line of cars stretching out to into the street despite the late hour. As soon as the cardboard tray was through the window he shoved a handful of fries in his mouth and pulled into a parking spot. He was watching me avidly as I took my first bite. "Oh my god."

"Yeah." He said around a mouthful of food. "See why I come here every Halloween?"

I would have replied, but I was too busy stuffing my face to speak. For a short time there was nothing but the sounds of the paper wrapped around our food crinkling, chewing, and Emma's soft snoring in the backseat. "That's the best cheeseburger I've ever had."

Tate smiled at me. "It is. I don't care what anybody says In & Out Burgers are the best." He rubbed his stomach appreciatively before reaching for a tray of fries covered in cheese, grilled onions, and thousand island dressing. I looked at it suspiciously as he held the tray out to me. "Try them." He urged and I finally relented with a roll of my eyes.

Two bites in I took the tray from him and slapped at his hand when he wanted more. "Have the 'well done' ones." He groaned and I relented. "Jesus, how come I never heard of this place?"

"Because you're not from here." He said simply. "But they're all over Southern California, and to someone who grew up here In & Out is like a religion and we're all devotees." I watched over his shoulder as a steady stream of people came away from the small building clutching paper bags and trays like junkies scoring their fix. "Can I say something without pissing you off?"

My eyes drifted back to find him watching me. "I guess."

"This, us, it's easier with her here." He nodded over his shoulder to Emma.

"Maybe." I hedged.

"No, not 'maybe', it is." He said firmly. "She's your perfect excuse you know?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She gives you a reason to keep me around but not be with me."

"That's bullshit." I snapped, digging around in my bag for my cigarettes and lighting one.

"Please, if you didn't want me around I wouldn't be, and don't tell it's punishment; we both know if you really wanted to punish me you'd to 'go away' again." I glared at him. "And every time I try to remind you that you can have both of us all I hear in response is that there's too much going on with her, and you can't think about anything else. That might have been true a couple months ago but it's not anymore."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Of course you don't. Just remember that you spent today with both of us, and you were happy." I felt like putting my cigarette out on his face. Instead I flicked it out the window and crawled in the backseat with Em.

The ride home was tense and silent, and when we exited the last freeway I crouched down on the floor just in case his fan club was hanging around the house. "What are you going to do?"

"Run; lead them away from the car and house so you can get her inside." His voice was clipped.

I remembered that first Halloween, when I thought he was alive, and how scared I was when they chased after him. "What were you shopping for this morning?" I asked, trying to dispel the nervous knot in my stomach.

"Christmas and her birthday; I wanted to make sure she had something to unwrap."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to."

Before I could respond I heard his harsh inhale as the car slowed, and his muttered shit. He took a harsh turn and slammed on the brakes, jostling me around, before he cut the engine and hopped out. I waited, hardly daring to breathe as his footsteps disappeared and I heard yelling, first his voice, than others, before I heard people running away. I raised up, looking out the window to find myself in Constance's driveway.

They were long gone as I walked down the silent street. Emma stirred awake, pulling herself away from my shoulder to look around, bewildered. "Where's daddy?" She asked innocently, and I gawked at her, before telling her he had to go do something. Once I got her in bed I retreated to my own room, sitting heavily on my bed as my head swam with everything that had happened, trying to cudgel itself into accepting things I didn't want to.

* * *

 

It was nearly dawn when I heard footsteps coming down the hall and watched through the open door as Tate looked in Emma's room, watching her sleep from the doorway. I called out his name softly, and he turned following my voice into my room and sitting on the bed next to me. I reached out, taking his hand in mine, and he looked down at it; shocked that for the first time I'd touched him instead of him touching me.

"You were right... about Emma. Her being here... I've been using it as a way to avoid what happened between us. It's more than that though. I worried that if I had you again I wouldn't need her, and I couldn't bear to hurt her that way." I sighed, squeezing my fingers gently around his. "But that's the answer too. I love her, and I can't hurt her, and it's not a choice between you; I love you both, differently and intensely."

I pulled against his hand, drawing his face closer to mine, so I could reach up and trace its curves and planes. "You protect the things you love without thinking, it's instinctual. The way you protected me from those freaks who tried to kill me... the way you protected me and Emma during the earthquake. I don't think you were wrong to... make sure Emma stayed here." I couldn't force the word 'kill' off my tongue, not now. "I think she was meant to be mine, and when it wasn't enough that the house pushed me out to show me that, you did. I can't keep punishing you for what you did for Nora when I'm no better." He moved his lips to protest, but I placed my fingers over them. "No, it's true."

His eyes were watching me closely, boring into mine with an intensity that was familiar and missed. "When you talk about Emma though you always say that she's mine... don't you want her to be yours too?" The air between us was perfectly still as he looked down at me, his hesitancy conveying his sincerity.

"I do." He said softly. "But she doesn't want me like she wants you."

I frowned, not wanting to give away how wrong he was because I needed to know. "Does that change things?"

"No."

"Tate." I said carefully, choosing my words with care because this was the most important thing I'd ever said. "It's not just me anymore. If you want me, she's part of that. And the things between us... there are going to be days when it's painful, it's not going to be magically perfect. I want you though; I want the future to be 'us' and not 'you and me and Emma'."

I waited, hardly daring to breath, as his silence stretched on, his expression closed off before he dropped his gaze and I felt his body shudder around the sob he was trying to suppress. I slid my hands up to his shoulders, guiding him, so that I could lay behind him with my arms around him, holding him through the pain of pieces of him that had been broken fitted back together.

I pressed my lips against the back of his neck, murmuring I love you against his skin; his hand tightening around mine in reply. I let my eyes close, preferring to feel him against me. His muscles were tense, stretched tight over his frame as he laid there. I could feel his tears dripping down onto my hand that was wrapped in his, his lips brushed against my knuckles over and over.

He jolted back into me and opened my eyes to see Emma standing next to the bed, looking worried, her hand outstretched. "Daddy?" She asked questioningly, alarmed by his crying. He pushed himself up, wiping at his wet cheeks before fitting his hands under her arms and lifting her onto the bed between us. "Why are you crying?" Her voice sounded panicked.

His lips pushed up into a watery smile. "I'm like you, I get cranky and start crying when I'm tired."

"Do not." She said crossley, as she settled between us, but he tickled her side, and making her smile before she sighed and closed her eyes to go back to sleep. His fingers twined through mine where they rested on Emma's back because life goes on even in the face of tragedy, and now we had something good between us that we could focus on, on the bad days; a bridge over an ocean of pain to keep us from drowning in it.

 


End file.
